Steal This Twilight

The clothing was the same, but the companionship was different.

I joined friends for another tour through the VMFA's "Hollywood Costume" exhibit, their first, my second, but this time on Thursday when the museum is open later and more people were bound to be there.

What was most interesting on this visit was the generational differences I saw.

Boomer-looking types seemed impressed by Indiana Jones' distressed leather jacket, made to look weathered with mineral oil and dirt rubbed into it and requiring ten jackets in total throughout the filming.

Millennials seemed far more taken with Matt Damon's "Bourne Ultimatum" ensemble, innocuous in style and color, but requiring 25 jackets to get through the rigorous filming.

Since I haven't seen either movie, my interest shifted to costumes from films I had seen.

Like the elaborate lavender dress with cloth flowers that Barbra Streisand wore in "Funny Girl."

Marilyn Monroe's exquisitely beaded dress from "Some Like It Hot," a movie I only saw for the first time in 2010, despite it being made in 1959.

With its nearly nude color on a curvy body like Marilyn's, it must have been a knockout, especially in a film with men dressed as women for contrast.

One thing that struck all of us as we looked at the men's costumes in the show was how much shorter a lot of the actors were than we thought; people like Mel Gibson, Stallone, Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp don't even reach six feet.

It was clear, though, from the John Wayne model that he was not vertically-challenged.

The videos in the exhibit were illuminating, too, like Meryl Streep talking about how costume designer Ann Roth got her wish with "Mamma Mia" because she finally got to dress Streep in a sexy manner.

And, you know, looking at the array of Streep costumes in the show - "The French Lieutenant's Woman," "Out of Africa," "The Iron Lady," she had a good point.

All of us agreed that DeNiro's costume from 1994's "Mary Shelley's Frankenstein" was the most sculptural item in the show, resembling as it did, a massive metal figure.

One of the males in our group fell in love with Joseph Fiennes' leather jacket? doublet? from "Shakespeare in Love," a marvel of intricate stitching and fitted like a glove to the actor's upper body.

Looking at the ornamented and enormously heavy dresses women of that era wore, it hardly seems fair men got way with boots, breeches and a doublet.

Luckily we'd corrected that by the time of Sharon Stone's white crepe suit from "Basic Instinct," with its short skirt and absence of underwear.

Far easier to maneuver in.

By the time we finished going through the exhibit, everyone had a different favorite costume, but some shared wishes for the displays, mainly more information.

How much did that Batman suit weigh? For that matter, how much did that dress from "Elizabeth" Cate Blanchett wore weigh? How did Tobey Maguire get that Spiderman suit on and how tough were bathroom breaks?

Inquiring minds wanted to know, but it was time to go our separate ways.

Not sure what their plans were, but I had a date at Ipanema where their "Steal this Wine" list assured me interesting choices at affordable prices.

Bartender Gabe greeted me with a "Where the hell have you been?" and a high five while I waited to see if my date would show.

He encouraged me to go ahead and order a bottle of wine, saying it would be a measure of my date's character to see how he reacted to me ordering wine when he was running late.

Lo and behold, there on the wine list was 2012 Occhipinti SP68, the Nero d'Avola and Frappato blend I'd had my last night in Rome, here.

Earthy and tasting of raspberries, it was everything I remembered from my Roman holiday finale.

Feminine and elegant. Delicate with lots of finesse. A bio-dynamic wine made by a talented, groovy woman.

Even better, it was right here in Richmond and I could drink it on this side of the Atlantic with a witty and talented man who'd asked me out tonight.

Score.

While the Ipanema crowd buzzed around us, we got into the quirky Treveri Brut Rose I'd recently had, the wall of sound with thick Scottish accents that is the Twilight Sad  and how to woo a woman with the sound of an ocean.

So far, he was doing really well.

With a soundtrack that segued from Jefferson Airplane to emo, we got into flower arranging, right brain versus left brain and squirrel traps.

Eventually, Gabe was gracious enough to bring us a bottle of 2011 Edmunds St. John "Fenuaghty Vineyard" Syrah, which server Jessica, whom I know as the violinist in Zac Hryciak and the Junglebeat, had recommended to me for its black pepper notes and which caught my date's eye for its maker, one of California's Rhone Rangers.

So while the girl with the bright red hair (and fake boobs) and her almost completely-tattooed companion took the stools next to us, we savored a lovely wine and mad flirting.

I don't have an Ann Roth to dress me in sexy clothing, but the companionship was outstanding anyway.

No telling what might have happened if I'd worn a wool crepe suit and no underwear.

Nah, not my style.

Slow Boat to Hell

Maybe it's just me, but between the holiday and today's rain, I had a serious case of cabin fever.

So, chomping at the bit, I considered my options knowing that I wanted something good.

I was counting on a slow night anywhere I went, but some ambiance was required.

Enter Secco.

There were just three couples in the place when I arrived and the music ran the gamut of the 20th century before the night was over.

The first order of the day was to ask the chef if I could admire his new pasta machine, the one attained through a kickstarter campaign that promised more pasta on the menu.

We saw not only the machine, but three recent pastas created with it.

That's what I'm talking about, Kickstarter.

Back out at the bar, it was wine time (perhaps it had been for longer than I realized) and I chose 2008 Cantine Cipressi Molise Rosso "Mecken," billed as a Southern Italian, ripe and bacony.

Who could resist a wine or man described that way?

Given the overwhelming humidity and chill today, and despite having had soup for lunch, my first food choice was lentil and ham hock soup with lime creme fraiche, a hearty bowl of lentils that delivered pig taste in every bite.

Only after the bowl was empty could I begin to think clearly.

For the next course, I allowed my kitchen visit to influence me.

Lumeche, a toasted snail-shaped pasta I'd never even heard of, much less eaten, came with (what else) snails, garlic, parsley and Meyer lemon.

The little shells held pools of the lemon and garlic sauce and after the first bite, the Italian nearby noted, "I'm right back in Naples."

With the distinctive Meyer lemon flavor, it was a simple yet beautifully executed flavor profile.

I'd have licked the plate if I could have done it without appearing unseemly.

The music made a distinct turn from jazz of the 20s, 30s, and 40s early on to a decided Reagan years bent with Simple Minds, New Order and the Cure.

Bobbing his head, my companion observed that he was hearing one of his all-time favorite dance songs.

It all worked for me.

After the beauty of Chef Tim's housemade pasta, it was time for some state of grace seafood.

Octopus "in Purgatory" was served with farinata, a chickpea cake, in spicy tomato sauce.

And while most farinata is more like a thin pancake, these were more like a variation on petit choux dough, thick and pan-seared for a nice brown crust.

Tender octopus has long been a Secco staple, but it was the farinata that was the perfect vehicle to get that heat-filled sauce to my mouth.

Served in a narrow and long boat-shaped dish, the presentation was clever, maybe a nod to the transportation that takes a person to the place of temporary punishment for those not destined to go to hell.

I'm guessing I won't be making a stop in Purgatory, if you know what I mean.

For my next glass, I chose Benotto Monferrato Rosso Nebieul, made with Nebbiolo grapes and aromatic and full of fruit like its pricier Southern relatives.

Let's just say it had enough finesse to accompany the chocolate budino with rosemary cream.

You know, budino, kind of a pudding, kind of an undercooked cake with a gooey center. All good.

Where do I start with a dessert this other-worldy?

With the warm, almost pudding like center of dark chocolate or the cream that tasted of richness but delivered  a woody nose of rosemary on the finish?

Together, the kind of dessert people like me dream of.

By this time, other tables had come in, but the restaurant was still incredibly civilized and low key, especially for a Wednesday evening, usually a bustling night.

I figured that's why every occupant seemed to be a couple.

If you're going to be out on the night after Christmas, apparently it's not going to be in pursuit of a swinging singles scene.

So much of tonight's meal reminded me of my trip to Italy this Fall - the stellar homemade pasta, the fresh tasting octopus- that I found myself craving one of the best wines we'd had while in Rome.

It was the Occhipinti SP 68 Rosso, described on the menu as part of the "new wave" of Sicilian winemaking and also as "not your grandmother's red."

Well, one of my very funniest memories from Italy was when I tried to order a Sicilian wine just south of Naples and the seasoned waiter had recoiled in horror, saying, "But it's Sicilian," as if I'd ordered wine from Florida.

But it's Floridian!

Then I'd backed down and succumbed to yet another Tuscan, but tonight I wanted my Sicilian.

When our server poured it, I inquired how she felt about it.

She was honest, saying it didn't taste like anything else she'd ever tasted, but she thought it was interesting.

I got it, immediately recognizing its elegant finesse and evoking that last night and the superior meal that ended our trip abroad.

To further the trip down Memory Lane, I ordered the blu di bufula, a stinky bleu cheese from Lombardy that recalled an afternoon-long lunch at Il Bufalito in Sorrento.

I could just imagine our bespectacled server that day, so earnest and efficient.

With a finish that fine, there was nowhere to go but back into the misty night to look for a way to top a meal that would have been right at home in Italy.

Or even to look for the kind of trouble that's going to ensure I never qualify for Purgatory.

Easy enough.

Everybody Dance Now

Girls just want to have fun.

That's how the three of us decided to meet up at Don't Look Back for food and girl talk.

The toast said it all.

"Here's to being friends in real life and not just on Facebook or when we end up at the same show."

Once of us arrived a few minutes late to find my dear friends patiently waiting until I arrived to commence drinking.

Ladies! The first rule of the night is that merriment waits for no woman, least of all me.

Much as I wanted to sit with my cute friend with the hovering husband at the bar, she was facing the TV and I just can't stomach a screen.

Even on election night.

Periodically, her eyes would grow wide ("Really, West Virginia? How can you be Republican?" leading to a discussion of Robert Byrd) or she'd provide a brief update.

I must have been impressive ordering my Cazadores on the rocks from the extensive tequila menu because one friend followed suit and asked for the same.

Once we put our orders in, we got down to the real business of the evening.

One of the highlights, surely, was, "Guys that like metal are the hottest."

I've got no actual proof of that, but the source was impeachable.

Somehow I managed to score the last chicken skin taco in the house and added on a fish taco for good measure.

Mid-meal and endless chatter about dating, the Boss came on and one friend squealed, "Springsteen? I am in love with this moment!"

Her point was valid; if you don't ever stop and truly savor such moments, you're cheating yourself.

Meanwhile back at our storytime, we held hands as we  heard tales of the highest romance - dancing lessons, shared meals and obscure music.

Was any relationship ever born out of more important components?

I was caught off guard when Tom Petty came on and one friend exclaimed, "This just keeps getting better and better!"

Hell, I knew that even before I heard Petty's distinctive nasal tones.

Nostalgia reigned supreme as we heard tales of first dates, one of which occurred on MySpace circa 2005

If that isn't the cutest (if a tad dated) story ever, I don't know what is.

There was one story of a couple having met in person (gasp!) pre-2005.

I think I even recall a fist in the air at our table when "Dancing in the Dark" came on.

We talked about the necessity of sexual chemistry, of being friends first and of having someone from whom you could learn things (say politics, music or movement).

By the time the music was more up my alley ("It's My Life") we were deep in on older/younger men, Myers Briggs ("You're an ENFP, aren't you?" I was asked) and how some people have been too stressed by the election to sleep for the past two days (don't look at me).

It got real, too, with discussion of the potential election results, with one friend saying the obvious first, "It really all comes down to Roe v. Wade" and me chiming in about legislating women's bodies.

If it sounds like it was anything but a blast, I've failed to convey what compelling and amusing company these two are.

The first casualty of our marathon session was the poor soul who'd gotten up at 5:30 a.m. to vote.

When we lost her, we consoled ourselves with the thought that there's always a next time.

What also occurred to me was that it was still relatively early.

Halfway across Cary Street to my car, I did a U-turn and decided to head to Secco.

Conveniently, my remaining friend was across the street and curious.

"Where are you going?" she inquired when she saw me about-face.

I didn't really have a plan, but there was definitely room in my night for a glass of wine and maybe even dessert.

Random conversation would be a bonus.

All of a sudden, in the middle of the street, she was on board.

The bar was full, so we took a table and wine lists.

Next thing I know, my eyes are bugging out of my head and I'm grinning ear to ear.

There on the wine list is 2011 A. Occhipinti SP68, the Nero d'Avola and Frappato blend I'd had my last night in Rome, here.

Earthy and tasting of raspberries, it was everything I remembered from my Roman holiday finale.

Feminine and elegant. Delicate with lots of finesse. A bio-dynamic wine made by a talented, groovy woman.

Even better, it was right here in Richmond and I could drink it on this side of the Atlantic.

I did. My friend did, too, saying she liked that it had a story with it (my story of that night, but a story nonetheless).

Such a beautiful and evocative wine demanded accompaniment, so I also ordered chocolate budino with olive oil gelato and toasted pine nuts.

It may be an Italian dessert, but it wasn't one I'd run across in Italy.

So as to confuse me, it arrived looking like small round cake but turned out to be more custard or pudding-like, with the consistency of a chocolate satin cream.

Paired with the uber-rich tasting gelato and toasted pignoli, it was a dessert worthy of the beautiful Sicilian wine I was drinking.

Go Secco.

A friend came over to hear about the Red Baraat show I'd seen at UR, here, and I enjoyed telling him how much fun it had been to be told by the band to dance for two straight hours.

As we sat there chatting about companionship, absent pajamas and being winked at, I couldn't help but think about how satisfying it is to go through life and continue to meet people you want to add in.

Note to self: loving this moment.

Grazie Mille, Tom

In a place like Italy, you would be wise to take the word of people who know.

That's how we'd eaten at Cafe Duomo and Osteria della Suburra and had wonderful meals.

Tonight I reverted to a favorite source, Tom Sietsema of "The Washington Post."

After last night's traditional take on Roman eats, we wanted a more modern interpretation for this, our final dinner.

Based on his "Postcard from Rome" installment, we took our first taxi of this trip to Ristorante Ditirambo on the Piazza della Cancellerio.

One look as we got out of the cab and we knew we'd been steered right.

As is typical, a small but charming patio fronted several brightly-lit rooms inside and the smells emanating from there were intoxicating.

Further proof that it was our kind of place was the massive wine list which provided too many good choices for one night.

Eventually, I chose a Sicilian, only this time our server expressed no disgust for not choosing a more local grape.

Remembering how much we'd like the Occhipinti we'd had at our farewell dinner at Ipanema the night before coming to Italy, I chose another of the young winemaker's offerings.

This time it was the SP 68 A. Occhipinti, a blend of Frappato and Nero d'Avola and an excellent choice if I do say so myself.

My partner in crime was sold from the first beautifully floral notes and from there we savored the fresh, earthy red fruit flavors and gloated over our luck in finding it.

From there things got even better.

An antipasto of seafood showed the kitchen's modern take on classic Roman food.

Octopus salad with ginger skewed Asian, while vegetable tartare with shrimp and lime was a nod to Mexicali.

Smoked salt cod with red peppercorns was the closest to a traditional take and the smoked amberjack carpaccio with fennel and orange was melt-in-your mouth silky.

After so generous a first plate, we took a break to watch the street theater and sip our vino before proceeding.

Next up was pappardelle made with spelt flour and covered in a rabbit meat sauce with sun-dried tomatoes and (yet again) ewe's cheese.

I can now say I understand the etymology of the word pappardelle, deriving as it does from "pappare," meaning to gobble up.

And gobble we did.

The broad, flat, fettuccine-like noodles in this clever take on a Bolognese sauce was once again making this pasta-indifferent eater obsessed with noodles.

The rabbit and sun-dried tomato sauce was spot-on, meaty and sweet and deliciously delivered via the wide noodles.

If I was uninterested in pasta before this trip, I think it'll only be harder to find any I can love once we get home.

But we'll see.

The Scandinavian girls at the table next to us seemed to be enjoying their food and wine every bit as much as we were and beyond them, we didn't much notice anyone else.

With food and wine like this for our final night of holiday, it was difficult at best to do anything but focus on the tiny table in front of us.

Eventually we moved on to dessert, a hazelnut mousse as well as a chocolate mousse so thick as to be halfway to gelato, but no complaints were heard from either of us.

Well, maybe just one small thing didn't sit well.

Tomorrow we go home.

All good things must come to an end...at least for the short term.